Wednesday evening: Chase
So pasta without a machine was a pain in the royal arse, but the Doctor was entirely too determined to make pappardelle anyway. He'd found the same Ann Coulter novel and covered it in plastic wrap, for smashing things flat, and it had worked pretty well, after rolling it out by hand. Chase had said he liked pasta, he would get pasta, come hell, high water, or neo-con garbage that wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.
He'd also managed to make a nice tomato sauce (still would do very bad things for onions), restrained himself from adding chillies, and finally prepped some veg for the side, which he'd steam in a bit. Lovely. Now, the question was who was going to guard this while he went to get Rob.
No one, apparently, though he gave it a firm look that implied anyone who did touch it would SUFFER. He dashed through the compound, fixing his hair inasmuch as it would be fixed, dressed quite nicely in a (pinstriped) jacket and trousers...along with a clean t-shirt; in his hand was a small box.
He'd also managed to make a nice tomato sauce (still would do very bad things for onions), restrained himself from adding chillies, and finally prepped some veg for the side, which he'd steam in a bit. Lovely. Now, the question was who was going to guard this while he went to get Rob.
No one, apparently, though he gave it a firm look that implied anyone who did touch it would SUFFER. He dashed through the compound, fixing his hair inasmuch as it would be fixed, dressed quite nicely in a (pinstriped) jacket and trousers...along with a clean t-shirt; in his hand was a small box.